


famous words, but not the last ones

by desmondkilometers (clockworkcorvids)



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: 5 Things, 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Desmond Miles Lives, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Modern Assassins (Assassin's Creed), Mostly Canon Compliant, Snarky Shaun, ac1-ac3 timeline, chefs kiss at that amirite, full disclosure ive only played ac2 and binged the wiki, just a tiny little treat heehoo, no beta we die like men, so i have omitted or shifted some details, something something nothing is true
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25437268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkcorvids/pseuds/desmondkilometers
Summary: Five times Shaun says “Hello, Desmond,” and one time he doesn't.
Relationships: Shaun Hastings/Desmond Miles
Comments: 7
Kudos: 61





	famous words, but not the last ones

**Author's Note:**

> i have _[checks the writing on my hand]_ 14 wips right now. bold of me to assume that'll stop me from cranking out yet another funky little oneshot idea my goblin brain produced
> 
> this is also an apology for my last shaundes fic, since i'm fairly sure i broke more hearts than just my own with that one :')

“Hello, Desmond, go away.” 

That’s what he says, the first time Desmond tries to strike up a conversation with him. Desmond is smart enough to see that Shaun is putting up walls because he’s scared of something. What, exactly, that  _ something  _ is, Desmond can’t tell, but it's probably related to the bloody sigils Subject 16 left as a parting gift. Desmond is smart enough to put this together, and he’s also idiotic enough to decide that he’s going to keep trying anyways. Shaun can’t keep up the facade  _ forever _ .

* * *

“Hello, Desmond, thanks for the coffee.”

What starts as an offhand comment turns into a genuine thanks. On the lucky occasion when, at Monteriggioni, Shaun  _ isn’t _ practically foaming at the mouth with stress and adjacent emotions, he’s actually pretty friendly. In his own strange and very British way, though, which seems to involve just as many backhanded compliments as insults, and usually hinges at least somewhat on caffeine-related bribes. It’s an improvement, though, and they begin to get to know each other beyond the scope of Brotherhood dossiers and info classed as  _ relevant to the mission _ .

* * *

“Hello, Desmond, how are you?”

The first time Shaun greets him this way, Desmond thinks about a story he heard once, somewhere, about a guy who bought 365 shirts in slightly different colors that spanned the entire rainbow. He wore one every day, and even with a few days’ difference, it would seem like he was wearing the same color shirt he’d been wearing before, but looking back on pictures or memories after a large chunk of time, the change would be more apparent. His relationship with Shaun is like that - it’s changed so slowly, he hasn’t really noticed the shifts, until he thinks back to a month ago and wonders how he got here. He’s glad he was right about Shaun, though.

* * *

“Hello, Desmond, please come back.”

His voice is...not soft, but fragile. Almost broken. Quiet at first, and a little less quiet with each word, as if he’s coming closer. His voice is murky, dim, diluted in the same way as the beam of a flashlight in the dark at too much of a distance. Desmond recognizes it anyways, even though he can’t see the face attached to it. He’ll come back, eventually, and Shaun will be too caught up in a mix of anger (which is really just fear) and relief to think about being poetic, or to think about much of anything except glaring at Desmond like he’s considering socking him in the face, and then pulling him in for a bone-crushing hug.

* * *

“Hello, Desmond, good luck.”

Desmond doesn’t remember when he said this, whether it was in Brazil or New York or someplace else entirely, because everything is beginning to blur together - more than usual, that is. Half the time he can’t even keep track of which memories are his and which are someone else’s, so not remembering the whole scene behind something comes as no surprise to him. It sticks with him anyways, though, because throughout all this hell, Shaun’s presence - and all his variations on such a simple greeting - has been a constant. Shaun has changed, sure, but he’s never been fickle, and especially not now. It’s reassuring, even if Desmond knows no amount of luck will help him now.

* * *

They’re staring at each other, Shaun poised over Desmond’s prone body to check for a pulse - he’s too shocked to be alive to have gotten up on his own yet, so it’s no surprise Shaun assumed he was dead. But it’s just after midnight - December twenty-second, 2012 - and Desmond Miles is still alive. He’s made it. Shaun, eyes wide, glasses crooked on his nose, opens his mouth to speak, and Desmond can already hear the  _ Hello, Desmond _ that he thinks is about to come, but it never does. Instead, Shaun just drops down and kisses Desmond, not even bothering to remove his glasses, and you know what? This is better. This is much,  _ much _ better.

**Author's Note:**

> me: hm i wonder my shaundes fics get so few hits :)  
> also me: _posts to a mostly dead tag in a comparatively small fandom at 4am utc_
> 
> i do like to think they held off on the whole passionate making out thing until they'd at least confirmed desmond didn't need to be carted to the er, but that's more about me insisting desmond isn't getting out of there without some nasty wounds in the universes where he actually _does_ live. for the record - if i were shaun, and desmond wasn't actively bleeding out or whatever, the first thing id do is give him a lil smooch. so i guess we can assume he didn't get too badly injured in this one.  
> idk man it's the middle of the night and i can't think straight :^
> 
> hope yall enjoyed B)


End file.
